


prophylaxis

by CyberPhoenix



Category: Henry Stickmin Series (Video Games)
Genre: Chess, Chess game but it's all symbolism, Gen, implied death (dethronement)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-18
Updated: 2020-11-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27620747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyberPhoenix/pseuds/CyberPhoenix
Summary: "In the game of chess, prophylaxis is a move that stops the opponent from taking action in a certain area for fear of some type of reprisal. Prophylactic moves are aimed at not just improving one's position, but preventing the opponent from improving their own."Reginald and Terrence, in simpler times, play a quiet game of chess.Reginald and Terrence, in harsher times, are nothing but enemies.
Relationships: Implied Randy/Terrence if you squint
Comments: 5
Kudos: 39





	prophylaxis

“Fancy a game of chess?” The young man slid down into a seat, shrugging slightly as he gestured to the board set up nearby.

“It’s been a good while since I’ve played, but sure. White or black?” The other leaned his elbows on the table, raising an eyebrow at his friend.

“I’ll take black, being the underdog’s always exciting.”

“Alright, I’ll take white then.”

The game began slowly, regularly. The calculations started playing out, as each of them moved to take what positions they could.

“I never took you for a chess player-- seemed too.. ah, high class, for you? No offense meant, of course.” Reginald seemed a little sheepish, waving a hand as he spoke.

Terrence laughed warmly, shaking his head. “None taken, none taken. Were you looking to play an amateur, then, get an easy win out of it?” A friendly jab, with no malice behind it-- they were able to be casual like this, a quiet conversation over a small game.

Reginald snorted. “Of course not, that’s not what I--” He cut himself off, scrutinizing the board. “You know, for someone who hasn’t played in a while, you do still have some skills.” He was playing more by the book, pursuing safer moves to try and advance where he could.

“I can adapt, that’s about the only thing I’ve got going for me--” A move of the hand, sliding a bishop up to pursue a wandering knight, “--you’re the one who’s got talent.” 

“I’m flattered, truly, but studying boards can only get me so far--” A chuckle, a defensive maneuver, “It’s always interesting to see how games like these can play out.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing, nothing-- merely thinking here.”

* * *

_It was tense, after the two of them separated. A clash of views, a clash of ideals, whatever he wanted to call it. They found different groups to settle into, found different friends to confide in, and went along their own ways through life, always intersecting at the worst moments._

_What do you even say to someone, who used to be so close, but now was nothing but a bitter memory walking among the living?_

_When Terrence was given his role as Randy’s right hand, things only got more tense, more… venomous. Dirty secrets and petty gossip wasn’t something either of them were too high and mighty to stoop to. Ambition could be easily turned to greed, glory turned to arrogance, you name it._

_But nothing was done directly. Things weren’t set in motion-- merely waiting, like how a panther stalks its prey, or how the sway of the ocean grows eerily calm before the surge of a tsunami. Should that tension ever break, all hell would be let loose._

_For now, they were enemies only in silence._

* * *

The game was dragging on. The banter, once friendly, had dropped away so the only sounds interrupting the silence were the gentle clack of pieces against the board. They seemed evenly matched, all things considered, which surprised the both of them.

Terrence reached out, grabbing his rook, but hesitated, setting it back down and moving to grab a different piece.

“Ah ah ah-!” Reginald interrupted, holding out a hand. “Touch-move rule, remember?” 

The other man looked up to meet Copperbottom’s eyes, confused. “The what?”

“Touch-move rule. You touch it, you move it. It’s in the name.” He explained, giving a pitying smile. “Unless you’d rather we play without it?”

A moment of contemplation, then a shake of the head. “Nah, nah, I’ll move that rook, it’s no big deal. But I get to hold you to that same thing, right?” He went to move his rook as initially planned-- a bad move, made without thinking, but one he felt he could recover from.

“Of course! Fair’s fair.” Reginald smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly as he shifted his focus back to the board.

So it continued, as that one mistake lay in wait, like an old scar suddenly reopened. It had been a vulnerability, one that Reginald made no hesitation in pursuing. One thing led to another, and--

“Check!” 

Terrence’s eyes widened as he realized the position he’d been put in. He could stop it-- hence why it wasn’t mate, but his options were extremely limited, the way the board had evolved. All he had to counter it was to sacrifice his queen. 

“Damn it, you really got me there--” He gave a laugh, dampened by disappointment as he let the exchange happen. A visible desperation seemed to enter his eyes then, at least in the scope of the game. Losing a queen like this, without being able to properly exchange it for something of the same value-- he was slowly being cornered, even if he didn’t see it for what it was at that very moment.

* * *

_Randy was gone, now. Suddenly, abruptly, quietly. Terrence wasn’t ready to be leader, wasn’t ready to have to continue forward without someone else to rely on, someone else to guide him. His friends cheered for him, but he couldn’t rest his burdens on them. He had to bear through this alone, no matter what followed._

_To say he wasn’t ready was arguably an understatement. He didn’t know how to organize things, how to motivate people-- he knew how to talk to people, one-on-one, get someone doing what they needed to, but a whole group? He wasn’t sure what to do, how to navigate the nonsense…_

_Not to mention the fact that they were currently bankrupt. Shit._

_Well, the only thing to do was to pick himself back up, set aside his grieving and panic, and… get to work. They had a heist to get to, after all._

_Maybe Reginald had been right about him._

* * *

The loss of his queen had sent Terrence’s plans off track. He was on the defensive now, trying to recoup his losses, make up for how he was falling behind in material. But, for better and for worse, he wasn’t one to so easily cower in the face of adversity. So he did what he knew how to do: catch his opponent off guard. He started playing aggressively, extremely so, making offensive maneuvers in an attempt to make up for what he’d already let fall behind. Sure, it ended up in harsher losses on his side, but he needed to claw his way back up somehow.

He was behaving recklessly, and Reginald knew that. It was one of his key weaknesses, a lack of forethought-- and one of his own main strengths. Reginald was always thinking seven steps ahead, if he could help it. Seeing every reasonable option, and acting accordingly. Perhaps he would be regarded as too cautious, looking almost paranoid in how he analyzed a situation for danger, but that was how you survived in a world like this. That was how you rose to the top, no matter how long it took. You couldn’t leave anything up to chance.

“You’re putting up a good fight, there.” 

“Am I?” Terrence almost growled in response, biting back any real frustration. It was just a game, after all. “Well, I’m not gonna just roll over just ‘cause you left me without a queen, there’s still plenty of tricks up my sleeve.”

Reginald laughed at that-- a bright, choppy sort of laugh. “Of course, of course. This has been rather fascinating thus far, anyways.”

“Shaddup and make your move, Shakespeare.” He responded, only a slight edge to his voice. The game wasn’t over yet.

* * *

_Things were going to absolute hell, in all honesty. Terrence was an awful leader, and the clan was in the worst state it had been in forever thanks to his recklessness and stupidity. Reginald knew something had to be done, before everything crumbled to irreparable pieces. Someone had to do something._

_He had to do something._

_For the sake of the clan, for the sake of his family here, for the sake of his friends, and for the sake of everything that Terrence thought he was but never truly could be, Reginald began to plan a coup._

_As for Terrence? What was there to say? It wasn’t as if he was blind to his faults, to every failure after failure, to the way the faith in him seemed to be dwindling. But what could he do? He was only doing what he knew how to. Anger rose up within him, fueled by stubbornness and a desperation to get out of this situation. No one had any right thinking that they knew what leadership was like, or what he should be doing. He was doing his best, damn it all! He was trying to fix things. But if they didn’t want to see it that way? Fine. Let them oppose him._

_No one was going to get in his way._

* * *

Things finally seemed to be looking up for Terrence. He’d wrangled control of the board again, taken Reginald’s queen, and moved to begin cornering his king. He had the piece advantage, and the other was quickly running out of options, it seemed. Check after check after check, always managing to escape, but only barely. They were in the endgame, and Terrence was nothing if not cocky.

Reginald however, remained impassive even as his side dwindled in strength. He didn’t show any doubts, didn’t show any weakness, just kept his focus on the board, and kept moving. Kept surviving. The game dragged on further, and it seemed as if he was close to that dreaded loss--

\--but something had slipped Terrence’s notice for too long, and it was far too late by the time he did remember a looming threat.

“Shit.” He finally hissed, right after moving a bishop out of the way from its place of threatening the corner of the back rank, glancing as to what just opened up.

“Finally caught on, ol’ pal?” Reginald simply smiled a wry grin, moving a waiting pawn up to the final row. “That’ll be a queen, then.”

* * *

_It was a common joke among those loyal to the uprising to refer to the ginger as Reginald’s Right Hand Man. But that seemed so perfect, all things considered. If this was to work, and Reginald was to usurp leadership of the clan, it would all be that way anyways, right?_

_Things were going surprisingly well. Word had spread, through gossip and hushed whispers, away from anyone who seemed particularly unbothered by Terrence’s actions. Most of the clan seemed on board with the idea this far-- it was just a matter of when, and how. A call for action, a signal to unleash hell, a rallying cry to let all their voices be heard. To let everyone say what they really thought of this chief._

_It would be soon, there were just a few loose ends to take care of._

_Terrence, meanwhile, was on a downward spiral of his own. Stress, among other things, was getting to him, desperation making him lash out at even those close to him. He had everything to lose, and everything to gain, like this. He needed to keep control of the clan, needed to stay in power-- what was he, without it? He couldn’t just step down, be known as a coward, be known as the one who drove the clan even deeper into hell only to hide from responsibility at the last moment._

_He needed to make things better, but even he could tell he was quickly running out of time to do just that._

* * *

Terrence was losing ground quickly, and it felt almost as if Reginald was toying with him. He’d passed up on so many chances for check, for checkmate, even, just to continue taking out Terrence’s remaining pieces, little by little. Terrence had taken some in return, of course-- but being a queen down again left him with little chance of properly evading Reginald’s offensive tactics.

“You’re dragging this out a long while, huh?” Terrence finally said, losing yet another lingering pawn to the queen’s grasp, heaving a sigh as he danced his king out of check again.

“I wanted to give you a chance to bring things back--” Reginald lied, shrugging. “You said you could adapt, right?”

“There’s a difference between adapting to a situation, and deciding whether you get shot in the hip or the heart. Either way on that last one, you still get shot.” Terrence joked, shaking his head. 

“That’s just how it is sometimes, old friend.” Reginald smiled, taking Terrence’s last piece, leaving his king alone.

* * *

_It seemed like there was no one left who would call themselves loyal to one Terrence Suave. Between Reginald’s smooth words, ever the charismatic one, and Right’s fists, should it ever have come to that, there was no one left to convince. They all went about their days as normal, as if there wasn’t the threat like a rumbling volcano, ready to erupt with fire and smoke and ash, ready to consume whatever was left of the man who called himself their leader._

_Terrence knew that well enough. Had seen how people withdrew away from him, how they ducked the corner when he walked past, how they acted casual, but… held a distance that didn’t feel natural. It was as if they were treating him almost like a ghost, just a mere mirage to be exorcised by some holy figure._

_He was defeated, he knew that much, as finally the day came._

_As finally the day came, and the game was finally over. The harsh words spat at him, all true, all piercing, seemed like an inevitability._

_Reginald was triumphant in this victory, in knowing he had cut down his opponent so effectively, so cleanly, such that there would be nothing to say it had ever risked being a losing battle._

_Perhaps from the beginning, this had been the foretold outcome._

* * *

“That’ll be checkmate, then!” Reginald smiled, gesturing to the board. 

“Took you long enough.” Terrence laughed gently, smiling back. “Guess I shouldn’t’ve underestimated you, huh?” He stuck out his hand for the other to shake. “Good game.”

“Never underestimate a Copperbottom, learn that lesson well.” Reginald winked, before taking Suave’s hand with a firm shake. “But yes, good game indeed.”

* * *

_A lone figure falls from the airship._


End file.
